"Mmm hmm."
"I must have fallen asleep."
"Yes. In the middle of it."
"Oh."
"I don't think I have ever had that happen before."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. If it had been the first time, maybe. But I think it was ... the fifth."
"Fifth? I didn't even know I was capable of four."
"Mmm. You will do better next time. I'm a doctor, so I know what the male body is capable of. We will get you in better shape soon enough."
The comment, mortifying him, hung in the air with all of its implications until he realized she was laughing. It wasn't the sound, because he'd managed to stifle any noise deep in her throat, but the vibrations of her diaphragm pressed against his body. He laughed with her and held her close, as if he could be any closer, as if it was even possible after what they'd done during the night. He felt that CK necklace falling on his chest, the coolness of the chain, and he wished he could ask her about it, but this was not the time.
They slept, and in the morning they showered together. She saw him looking at the necklace and blushed. Still, he did not ask. They did not talk much, even as they dressed and packed, but it was a comforting and lovely silence, the kind of silence that was like a spell that both of them were afraid to break. They paid their bill—Bob Martin was conspicuously absent, a young woman worked the counter—and had breakfast at the Apple Peddler. A morning mist hung over the city, the headlights of passing cars yellow bubbles in the fog. Over coffee and pancakes, they talked not about Miranda's situation, but about Crescent City and what it might be like to live there. What they were really talking about, Gage knew, was what it would be like to live there together.
Tatyana, who'd never seen the redwoods and sequoias that made this part of California so famous, asked if they could stop briefly at the Jedediah State Park before they headed north. It was only fifteen minutes east of the city on US-199, and Gage was happy to oblige. Who was he kidding? If it had been an hour away, or even ten, he would have been happy to oblige.
There was something stirring inside him, something both exhilarating and terrifying. He hadn't expected to feel this way. He liked her, of course, really liked her, but this was something else altogether. He wasn't ready. It wasn't the right time. But, of course, love refused to be dictated by other people's schedules.
Was it really love, though? He was probably confused, so relieved that such a spectacular woman had come along to spare him from his loneliness.
They had taken their time both at the motel and at breakfast, so it was already eleven in the morning by the time Gage parked the van in the paved parking lot of Stout Memorial Grove. The fog, which had partially burned away by then, still clung to the tops of the towering trees. His van was so loud in the serene stillness that he felt like a man charging into a library with a roaring chainsaw. Judging by the disgusted look a young couple gave him as they crossed the lot, both of them decked out head to foot in REI gear, this feeling was very well justified.
Other than that couple, though, they were alone, and they strolled along a paved path into the heart of towering old-growth redwoods, a thick carpet of ferns on either side. Shafts of sunlight sliced through the mist in the canopy high above, a cathedral ceiling that bested anything created by a human being. The trees were so much larger than life that it was only when Tatyana stood by one of the trunks that it became clear just how massive they really were. The young couple he'd irritated disappeared along a side trail, leaving them completely alone with the moisture dripping on the ferns and the silent, slow movement of the occasional yellow banana slug.
While the path was paved, the big roots still created hidden bumps and unevenness, so he took his cane even though he was having one of his better knee days, hardly even a twinge. After their night together, Gage was self-conscious about it, but Tatyana was so entranced by her surroundings that she barely noticed him. He kept stealing glances at her, trying to assess her mental state. She seemed sad. Why was she sad? Was she pulling away from him? Even when they'd playfully talked about moving to Crescent City during breakfast, he'd sensed her pulling away, battening up the hatches, reverting back to her preferred buttoned-up state of being. He knew there was a part of her that was totally closed off from him, an important part. It gnawed at him, this scar from her past. He was a man of a scarred past himself. He knew how deep the scars could run.
"You know," he said, "you really can talk to me about anything. People tell me I'm a pretty good listener."
She didn't look at him, but he saw a faint smile cross her face. "Oh? They tell you this?"
"Some people, anyway."
"I see."
"So if there's something that bothers you, I want you to know ... you can talk to me. Even if it's something that happened a long time ago."
She nodded, but said nothing. He thought he heard the faint whisper of Smith River through the forest, though it may have been a breeze high in the treetops. They walked until they'd rounded the grove, reaching the entrance once again. There she turned to face him, squarely. Whatever sadness had taken hold of her moments before had disappeared, her eyes steady.
"I need to say something," she said.
"Okay."
"'I'm not broken," she said. "I don't need to be fixed. I don't need to be rescued. Yes, I may have come from a broken place, but I am not broken."
"Ah," Gage said, "somebody's been talking to you."
"Don't be mad. I think I would have said this even if your friend had not told me about your ... tendencies."
"Some friend."
"Garrison—"
"No, no, it's all right. I feel like some kind of psychiatric case study, but, hey, there are worse things in life, I suppose."
"He cares about you, Garrison. That's all."
"Well, if he actually cared about me, he'd butt out of my—"
"No, listen. Please. This is important." She reached for him. He tried to pull away, but she was too determined to be denied, grabbing his right hand with both of hers. Even the touch of her cool fingers was enough to spike his heart rate. "Just listen for a moment. I like you. I'm so glad we finally met."
"Me too," Gage said. "I wish we'd met sooner."
"But, see, that is exactly my point. We are who we are in this moment, the people who want to be with each other, exactly because we did not meet before. Our past makes us who we are."
"You're saying you have no regrets? I seem to remember—"
"Oh no, I have regrets. I told you about one of my big ones. But just because I regret it does not mean I wish I could change it. It makes me who I am."
"So if you could go back in time, you're saying—"
"But we can't go back in time, Garrison. That's what I'm saying. And since we can't go back, we can only go forward. Everything that has happened to me has brought me to this point. It brought me right here, standing in this forest, holding your hand. Who is to say that another path would bring me here? It might be a better path. It might not. It doesn't matter, because this is the only path I could have ever been on, because this is the path that life offered me. Does this make any sense at all?"
"I guess," Gage said. "But if you take that philosophy too far, doesn't that mean there's no point in helping anyone? Why should I even help Miranda, then? After all, all her suffering today will just make her who she is tomorrow."
"But that's the difference."
"Sorry?"
"Today. Tomorrow. But not yesterday."
Gage sighed. "Now you've really lost me."
"Miranda needs help now. Who she becomes tomorrow is not certain. If someone needs help today, of course it is a good thing to help them. But that is different than always trying to fix them. I can't speak for everyone. I could be wrong. But for me, I don't want you to fix me. I want you to understand me. To know me, to really see me. Do you see me?" She placed his hand on the center of her chest. "Do you feel me? Do you know me as I am? That is enough. Does that make sense
?"
"I think so," Gage said.
"Really?"
"No. Probably not."
"Oh."
"But I really like having my hand on your chest. That counts for something, right?"
That got her to laugh. She was still laughing when they walked back to the van. Gage may not have totally agreed with her philosophy about the past, but he did like making her laugh. When he'd met her, she'd barely even smiled. Now he had her smiling and laughing. That was a change. Call it a fix or not, it was definitely a change.
It was good, this change. It was the kind of good that gave him purpose, and he wasn't about to let go of that purpose no matter what anyone said.
Chapter 15
They reached Barnacle Bluffs shortly after sunset Monday night. Gage, quite aware that one of the men who'd attacked him was still on the loose, stayed vigilant, but he'd seen no signs of being followed. He almost wished someone would come after him, since that might help him figure out who they were. As it stood, he felt frustrated at how little progress he'd made. Yes, Miranda had come to Crescent City, probably on the run from a powerful man, and yes, she'd likely met Marcus there and fled with him on his boat, but that's as far as he'd gotten.
Who were the men who'd come after him and why? Did they kill Marcus, and if so, why didn't they kill Miranda?
It was all a big mess.
The sky was a shade of indigo bordering on black, a surprising amount of stars visible through the fine strands of clouds that stretched overhead like a cotton ball pulled apart until only the tiniest threads held it together. The wind rustled the tops of the firs surrounding Tatyana's apartment complex, and he heard the lonely whine of a single jet ski on the lake beyond their sight. There was a chaste kiss at Tatyana's door, a promise to talk after she got off work tomorrow, and then he was on his way home.
He was still thinking about the chasteness of that kiss and what it meant, when he pulled up his gravel driveway and saw the silver pickup parked in front of his house, a ten-year old Toyota Tacoma with nobody inside the cab.
He felt a blast of iciness through his veins. Was the truck owned by the guy who'd come after him? It had Oregon plates. Then he saw that Zoe's white Corolla was parked in front of the Tacoma, as if the truck had tried to block her in, and the ice in Gage's veins only intensified.
It didn't take him more than a few seconds to burst into the house, the Beretta in his hand, the cane left behind. The house was dark. He heard a loud thump from the back of the house—Zoe's room. He almost called her name, then decided, no, if the man had her, he wanted the element of surprise.
His mouth dry, his heart booming in his ears, he ran down the hall and flung open Zoe's door.
Only a red heart-shaped nightlight in the corner cut through the darkness, but it was enough that he saw the shape of a man pinning Zoe to the bed.
"Get off her!" Gage cried.
It was only then that Gage realized his mistake. The man's bare back was the first clue, bare all the way down to the naked bottom. The equally naked young woman beneath him, her legs wrapped around the young man's waist, was the second clue. All the other clues, the ones he missed, fell into horrifying place in Gage's mind. Jazzy music played faintly from her stereo. A candle on her desk burned low. He got a glimpse of Zoe's astonished face, and Zachary's too, before Gage ripped himself away from the spectacle. There was yelling and shouting, a flurry of movement, but Gage was already staggering back to the front of the house.
There were things in his mind now that could never be removed, images, even smells, that could never be purged from his memory. Sweat and sex. The slow movement of glistening flesh. He didn't know what to do with himself and found himself pacing in the kitchen in the dark, the Beretta clutched in his hand. What had he done?
An hour later—it may have only been a few minutes—Zachary stumbled out in jeans and a half-tucked-in white T-shirt. He wore sneakers but no socks. As he neared the oven light, Gage saw that the kid's face was red and sweaty, wearing the kind of terrified expression of a child who'd finally come face to face with the monster in the dark he'd always feared was there. He saw the Beretta in Gage's hand and his knees buckled a little before he caught himself.
"I'm—I'm sorry," Zachary said.
Gage didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He looked at the gun, looked at the kid, and by then, Zachary was already fleeing the scene in abject terror. Gage watched him go, only barely aware of Zoe bolting out of the house after him. By then, the Tacoma was kicking up gravel and roaring down the driveway.
Seconds later, Zoe burst back into the house, yelling at him before the door had even slammed behind her.
"What were you thinking?"
He didn't look at her. He didn't want to look at her. He was vaguely aware of her standing at the edge of his vision, glaring, short of breath, all disheveled in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. The faint buzz of the oven light. The low hum of the refrigerator. The way the shadows weaved across the ceiling. He was willing to focus his attention on just about anything else but her.
"You have a gun in your hand," she said finally. Her tone had changed. It was less accusatory, more concerned.
"Yeah," he said.
"Why?"
"Something happened in Crescent City. Some men came after me."
"Okay ... you think, I don't know, maybe you can put the gun down now?"
"Yeah."
He engaged the safety and put the Beretta on the kitchen counter, pointed toward the wall.
"So," she said, "you were worried about me."
He nodded, then realized she might not be able to see his face in the near darkness, so he said, "That's right."
"Okay. Okay, that makes sense. I'm not mad anymore. It's fine. I forgive you."
"Thank you."
"Not a problem."
The conversation sounded so pedestrian to his ears, they could have been talking about how he'd used her favorite mug by mistake. He glanced at her, caught a glimpse of her staring at the floor through the tangled mess of her hair, and that image of her in bed with Zachary leapt back into his mind. He forced it away. Deep down. Buried it.
"Listen—" she began.
"It's all right," he said.
"No, no, we should talk about this. I don't want it to be weird and awkward. I just ... I guess I got it in my head you were coming back tomorrow."
"It's fine, really. You're a grown woman now. You can ... you can do what you want."
"He's really nice, you know."
"Okay."
"I just didn't want you to think ... I don't know, he's just not like a normal cop. He's really sweet. I like that. I didn't know I liked that, but I do. I mean, with him. I just haven't been able to stop thinking about him, you know?"
"It really is fine."
"I just wanted you to know."
"Okay."
"It's not just, you know, about ... that. About what was going on in there. It's more than that. I think it's more than that. I think it's really something special. I hope it is."
"Zoe—"
"So, we're good then."
"Yeah," Gage said. "I'm sorry."
"No, no, don't be. You were worried. I get it. But, um, it's okay?"
"What's okay?"
"If he's around."
"Oh. Well, you don't need my permission. Like I said, you're a grown woman. I'm—I'm happy for you."
"Really?"
"Sure. Sure, I want you to be happy. If he makes you happy, that's—that's, um, good. Are you happy?"
"I think so."
"Great!"
"So we're good?"
"Yeah, good. Very good."
"Good."
"I think I'll, um, go take a shower."
"Good. Great. You, uh, want me to make some dinner for us?"
"I already ate."
"Okay."
"Thank you, though."
"No problem."
They both stood there, a couple nodding fools, then at some
point she wandered down the hall. He remained in the kitchen, unsure of what to do, until he heard the bathroom door close, then the shower start. He holstered the Beretta and headed to the front door, where he paused, debated about yelling out where he was going, then reconsidered and returned to the kitchen. He scribbled a note on the pad affixed to the refrigerator, Gone to see Alex. He thought something was missing, but he couldn't figure out what, exactly, so he wrote See you later.
* * *
Eve and Alex were doing dishes when he showed up at the Turret House, having enjoyed a big salad of mixed greens, boiled eggs, and cranberries, but there was plenty left over and Eve insisted that Gage sit and eat. He knew better than to protest, and he was plenty hungry. He was more of a steak and potatoes kind of guy, but if Eve cooked it, he would gladly eat it. The three of them chatted about the trip, about how he'd been attacked, and when they had been assured that both he and Tatyana were okay, Eve drifted away to do some bookkeeping and Alex and Gage retired up to the turret.
All the blinds were up, but the windows were so dark Gage couldn't make out the ocean. Alex turned on the beaded lamp, hardly casting off more light than a single candle—which suited the room just fine. While Alex fixed himself a brandy and Gage a bourbon on the rocks, Gage settled into one of the leather recliners. They said nothing until both of them were seated, drinks in hand, the first sip already warming their faces.
"I assume there's a reason you wanted me to bring my cell phone and laptop up here," Alex said.
"There is," Gage said.
"All right. But before you tell me your reason, I have a little bit of news for you. Miranda hired a lawyer."
"She what? With what money?"
"That's just the thing. It's D.D. Conroy. He offered to do it pro bono. He's the lawyer who—"
"Oh God, that guy?" Gage said. "The one from Alabama who looks like Colonel Sanders?"
"Mississippi, actually. The same."
"The one who was involved in all that business in Minneapolis, with that white girl who was killed by a black police officer? And all those other cases over the years where he can get himself in front of a television camera?"
A Shroud of Tattered Sails: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 4) Page 19